Jason Gorber

Bold, effective, and brilliant in equal measure, Moll’s film is a fine policier in the grandest of traditions, joining a long line of noir-inflected French police dramas unafraid of being more than vehicles for action and retribution.

The Bibi Files may not be the poison pill that knocks the Netanyahus from power the way that those on screen may be calling for, but it’s still a powerful presentation of the facts without ever devolving into being a mere polemic.

In the end, Splitsville is a lot of stupid fun told smartly, unafraid to lean into the salacious while still somehow maintaining an emotional groundedness.

While the film as a whole is slightly haphazard, and the revelations are relatively few, there’s still a strong sense of engagement and excitement that illustrates better than most the thrill of discovery and the scope of what these humble rocks represent.

Cassel and Kruger shine, but the rest of the performances feel either staid or over-the-top. Some of the story comes across as pretentious, and some of the pacing is disjointed and inelegant.

It’s a film that’s emotional, exhilarating, and essential.

No other artform could quite present such a collision of time, place, idea and emotion, and it’s clear that Nolan’s pure intent is to give us the utmost of what this medium can uniquely provide. At its best this is a ride that manages to be viscerally thrilling while still being emotionally and intellectually engaging, all in ways that are truly, uniquely cinematic. In other words, say what you will about the tenets of Tenet, at least it has an ethos.

As audience members, we experience the highs and lows of the Pelletier’s journey together, never divorced by what drove the desire to experience the world, and reminded throughout how in our own lives we must, whenever possible, make the same choices to seize the moment and make good memories as best as we can.

F1 feels, at times, like an underbaked episode of Netflix’s docuseries Drive To Survive—albeit one with Top Gun-style editing, incredible access, and enough drama to make someone bored of the racing become enthralled with the gladiatorial characters behind the wheel of these incredible machines.

Followers of Carax will be warmed by his return if a little disappointed it doesn’t quite recapture the magic, while fans of Sparks (many newly minted thanks to Wright) may appreciate the foray into a different outlet for their art. For those of us open to the experience but without a baked-in attitude to love this sight unseen, Annette proves to be a deeply flawed picture that still has many moments to recommend it.

Dancing between the ruminative and the revelatory, it never succumbs to being maudlin or cloying. The Life of Chuck is a modern fable told with the deftness of a fairy tale, with the sheer exuberance of a musical while exuding the same sense of wonder one gets staring up at the heavens.

With bold performances, a strong vision for the source material, and a wise decision to focus on this under-represented portion of this narrative, The Return makes for an effective character piece that proves these stories are not only timeless, they’re as timely as ever.

While parts of it are laudable, unfortunately, Emmi’s film feels underbaked, never truly elevating its story to generate the kind of deeper effect that similar thrillers have managed to elicit.

Oh, Canada feels less a deep rumination at the last moments of an artist’s life, and more the confused ramblings of an irascible, self-important character surrounded by sycophants unable to stand up to his unreasonable demands.

The End paradoxically feels ornamental and operatic while at the same time almost iconographic in its simplicity.

Casablanca Beats drums its ideas loudly and effectively. The result is a boisterous and crowd-pleasing delight, showing a community with deep specificity that nonetheless speaks to the concerns of young people all over the world.

If you go into Bookworm expecting more of the same chills and thrills from Timpson and his collaborators, you may be put off by this far more accessible tale. Yet, peering closer, you can see reflections of the same rich emotional and character beats that have always been lingering within the more sordid genre trappings of Timpson’s previous work.

The performances are stellar, the pacing both restrained and engaging, the realization of Cohn and Trump’s world is top notch, and the dynamic between the two is as captivating as any.

From its opening moments, The History Of Sound feels like it’s going to be something grand. It’s this feeling that makes the warbling result that much more disappointing, a song soon to be forgotten.

It’s a film that’s serious about play, and humble about the need for joy. Piece by Piece is, quite simply, bricktacularly brilliant.

If one (somehow) completely ignores the utter ridiculousness of a musical performance anchored with mediocre singing (insert snarky Russel Crowe-related comments here, if you’d like), there’s still a lot of fun to be had from the film.

Falling fails hard, unable to generate sympathy for its protagonists and relying entirely on the charms of its writer/director to sustain interest. It’s a shame, as Mortensen’s a fine performer with a strong legacy, but the film feels like the worst kind of passion project, one that forgot to bring the audience in for what amounts to a film more masturbatory than moving.

Elton John: Never Too Late feels like the definitive authorized film biography, and plugs a very important hole in telling his story in honest yet compelling ways.

The prevention of the rise of similar evil is an unending project needing similar vigilance and tenacity as expressed by many of those captured here on screen in “Nuremberg.”

Anchored by another admirable performance by Fiennes, it mines its milieu effectively enough. Even if the end result doesn’t quite live up to the majesty of Elgar’s opera, or even the truly transformative societal shifts that the Great War wrought on this land, there’s enough to admire about what takes place on screen in this telling to recommend it.

This is an intimate film with grand ideas, a small boat floating on a giant ocean, and the extraordinary discovery at the heart of the narrative is outweighed by the sense as a filmgoer that we’re seeing a talented director coming to the surface, sticking her tendrils in, and reshaping our expectations as we’re taken along for the journey.

Megalopolis is a magical, meandering, maddening construction, one that demonstrates that the process of experimentation is in and of itself both deeply entwined with, as well as above, dualistic notions like success and failure.

If you’re looking for a brisk bout of debauchery and family shenanigans, Alex Winter’s latest chilly tale may well be something to be warmed by.